Dragonheart

“You know how they feel,” Tannaz said, her voice turning softer, warmer. “Probably more than most, since you lost your fire-lizard.”

Fiona bit her lip, then shook herself fiercely and nodded for the Weyrwoman to continue.

“So talk to them about how they feel, how you feel. Don’t lie but be positive.” Tannaz put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed firmly. “You are a Weyrwoman now.”

Something in the other’s tone made Fiona realize that Tannaz was bestowing upon her a gift, not weighing her with a burden. Tannaz must have seen it, too, for she let go of the young girl and told her brusquely, “Off you go, now!”

As Fiona started off down the corridor in the direction Tannaz had indicated, she realized that she didn’t know where to start and slowed down, dithering between going back and asking the other Weyrwoman or just picking a spot and starting.

As if reading her thoughts, or recognizing her omission, Tannaz called after her, “First weyr after the stairwell.”

Fiona picked up her pace again, looking anxiously in each entrance to see if it was a stairwell. After a while her pace slowed down again as she began to think about what she was going to do. What did one say to grieving dragonriders? Fiona wondered. She mulled on this, growing more and more anxious with each step until, by the time she reached the stairwell, she was nearly trembling with fear.

I can’t do this, she thought miserably, stopping one pace before the entrance to the weyr. I’ve only thirteen Turns!

She thought of turning back, of telling Tannaz that everyone had made a mistake, that Talenth had made a mistake in choosing her — and that thought, that horrible thought, brought her up short. She reached out and touched the sleeping queen lightly with her mind. She felt Talenth’s fatigued response, realized that the queen was groping slowly toward full consciousness in response to Fiona’s needs, and pulled away.

Back to sleep, little one,  she thought fondly to her mate.

Kindan had no one, Fiona chided herself, and he was your age when the Plague struck. He saved you and everyone at Fort.

Well, she corrected herself, tears filling her eyes, almost everyone. He couldn’t save Mother, or my brothers, or even my sister, the girl he loved.

But he saved me,  she remembered, and thought of the tales her father had told her of Kindan’s bravery. With those in mind, along with images of her own Impression, she lifted her head and stepped forward.

I can do this, she thought, and she called out, “Hello?”

“Who’s there?” From the sound, Fiona guessed that the rider was calling from his dragon’s weyr.

“Fiona, Talenth’s rider,” she replied, walking through the rider’s quarters to the entrance to the dragon’s weyr.

“The new Weyrwoman?” the rider muttered to himself. Then he said, “See, Danorth, that’s the youngster we saw Impressing that queen at the last Hatching.”

Fiona heard a dragon make an inquiring noise and stepped into view. Danorth was a green dragon. Her rider was an older man, older even that H’nez but, at least from first appearances, not nearly as irascible.

“I’m forgetting my manners!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet and bowing his head. “I am L’rian, Danorth’s rider, at your service, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona smiled and nodded back.

“Fiona . . .” he murmured thoughtfully, then comprehension brightened his expression. “You were Lord Bemin’s child, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied, not seeing the need to state that she still was  Bemin’s child.

“She was just a baby back then,” L’rian said, speaking mostly to his dragon, then caught himself. “My apologies, Weyrwoman, but I often find myself talking aloud to Danorth, just to hear my voice.”

“But you get out, don’t you?” Fiona asked quickly. The man appeared no older than her father, but then Fiona remembered that weyrfolk aged better than holders, so perhaps he was nearing sixty Turns or even the seventy Turns that Masterharper Zist had.

“Indeed I do!” L’rian replied, straightening up. “My bones might be old, but the mind’s still able.”

“You knew me as a baby?” Fiona asked uneasily.

“Indeed, I did,” L’rian replied. “I was lucky enough to be on the Weyrleader’s wing back then, and there was many a time when I’d attend a Gather at Fort Hold .”

“Did you know my mother?” Fiona asked, curious. The only memories she had were so dim that she was never willing to put much faith in them.

“I did,” L’rian told her, shaking his head sadly. “I knew her before she was Lady Holder, even.” He smiled at her. “She looked a lot like you, actually.

“She came from Ruatha,” he continued, pleased to see that he had such a willing audience. “At first she spent time at the Harper Hall.” L’rian winked at her. “Rumor was that she was sweet on a harper, even though she was the eldest of Ruatha’s daughters.”

Fiona listened, entranced, for the next half hour while L’rian reminisced.

“Oh, I can go on, can’t I?” he said in apology when he realized how long they’d been talking. He smiled. “But it’s good to talk to fresh ears; all the stories become new again.”

Fiona smiled back. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Was that the purpose of your visit?” L’rian asked, somewhat bemused. “I can’t think of anyone who might know that I’d met your mother, you know.”

“No,” Fiona said, rising to her feet and looking anxiously toward the door. “Tannaz asked me to — ”

“Check on us?” L’rian guessed with a knowing look.

Fiona thought of prevaricating but realized it was futile. “The loss of the dragons — ”

“That was horrible,” L’rian confessed. “Even for the weyrfolk, who can only know what’s been lost, not what was had.”

“Some of them had fire-lizards,” Fiona remarked.

“So they did,” L’rian agreed. “And those would understand, even if they were still in pain. But only someone who has Impressed can really understand what it is to lose a dragon.” He pursed his lips, then leaned closer to Fiona, saying conspiratorially, “If anything were to happen to Danorth, if she were to get ill, I think I’d go between  with her.”

“But what about your loved ones?” Fiona asked in dismay.

“I’ve seen many of the ones I’ve loved go between  already,” L’rian told her. “My sons and daughters are all grown, their mothers are well partnered, and my best mates are in the past. I’ll have no regrets when the time comes.”

“Except one,” Fiona corrected. “Fighting Thread.”

L’rian barked a laugh. “Fighting Thread!” He turned back to Danorth. “Did you hear that? She thinks we’ll fight Thread!”

“It’s coming soon,” Fiona replied hotly. “And we’ll need all dragonriders then.”

L’rian paused then, absorbing her words. “I suppose we will at that, if only to carry firestone to the fighting wings,” he allowed.

“There, you see, you’ve something to live for, then,” Fiona told him.

L’rian smiled and gave her a tolerant look. After a moment, he grinned and wagged a finger at her. “I’ll tell you better.”

Fiona looked at him inquiringly.

“I’ll wait around until your gold rises, and then  we can have some serious conversations,” the green rider teased.

Fiona felt herself turning bright red, and L’rian burst into a loud, long laugh. She brought herself under control enough to declare, “Heard and witnessed!” which wiped the smirk off the old man’s face. She turned to his quarters, saying, “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must check on the others.”

“Go, lass!” L’rian called after her. “Go and may you bring as much joy to the others as you’ve done to me.” As she left she heard him muttering to his dragon, “Did you hear that, Danorth? We’re staying on for another three